Something to keep in the shadows
by Yuu-chi
Summary: Jack knows this is something that can never end well.


**Something to keep in the shadows**

**.**

_For Kaira-Flowrite of deviantart_

_Merry Christmas, hope you enjoy! _

_._

Jack really couldn't say how it started.

This thing with Pitch –fingers scrabbling at clothes in darkened caverns, teeth sharp at his throat and the rough press of mangled tree-bark against his bare back, his nails scrapping against quicksilver skin and the explosion of ice and darkness and terror – it felt like it'd come out of nowhere. Like, one day Jack just woke up and _Bam _– he's shagging Pitch Black.

The reality of the situation is a little different than that, Jack knows. It wasn't quite that sudden, not nearly so unexpected. But when Jack tries to think back beyond Pitch's hands pushing him down or the feel of his skin beneath Jack's fingers, he draws something of a blank.

Not just back beyond the touching, but to the very start of this whole train-wreck of a relationship they seem to have going. Back to before they would pass each other in the darkness of the night and blue eyes would meet gold and for one singular, sensual moment, it was just the two of them in the whole of the world. Back before saving Earth from Pitch went hand and hand with not-so-innocent touches when one of them had the other backed against a wall, before Pitch would slide a hand down Jack's arm as he made his escape and _god_ – back before Jack would _let _him.

It's horrific, probably, Jack's aware, because he's a _Guardian _and Pitch is Pitch and he's fairly certain there's some kind of clause in this Guardian thing that explicitly states he's not to conduct secret sexual relations with the enemy.

The thing is though – and this is the real kicker of this ridiculously stupid situation that Jack has found himself in – he can't _stop_; and beyond that, he's not even sure he _wants _to.

It's possibly the worst idea Jack has ever had in all his existence, worse than even impromptu skating sessions and a disregard for thin ice.

So Jack keeps it quiet because he's fairly certain saying; '_Good morning, nice day out, isn't it? Oh, by the way, hope you don't mind or anything, but I'm off to see Pitch and touch his naked body all over,'_ is probably a good way to lose his Guardianship even if he's fairly certain the only one with the position to revoke that is probably the Man in the Moon and hey, the Moon hasn't kicked up a fuss yet so Jack figures for the time being he might be in the clear.

So Jack keeps sneaking off into dangerously dark holes, following Nightmares and shadows that seem to spur from nowhere and twist along the wall in writhing darkness until Jack notices them and his heart seems to freeze – does it even beat anymore? Hadn't it already frozen that night three-hundred odd years ago as he drifted deeper and deeper into the lake? – and he swallows, ducking off into the dark and following them until there's hands grabbing at his wrists and lips against his and – just, Jesus Christ, Jack's in deep. This isn't a wayward snowball aimed too low when thrown, or too many snow days in a year to be really acceptable. This is something deeper, _darker,_ and Jack's not entirely sure how he's going to be able to get out of this situation unscathed.

It's probably some sort of addiction, the feel of Pitch's hands on him, his back up against the wall, and Jack has yet to be introduced to an addiction that's healthy, but he's pretty sure this one is all kinds of risky and shouldn't be nearly as exhilarating as it is.

It's stupid. Really, really stupid, and Jack should have cut it off long ago but now, and God or Moon or whoever-is-in-charge-up-there, help him, he's developing _feelings_ and he might not be the most knowledgeable person around about relationships or whatever fucked-up equivalent he's got going with Pitch, but he's pretty sure _feelings _kind of seal the deal.

What Pitch gets out of this whole thing, he has no idea, because he doesn't have nearly as much riding on this as Jack. Maybe Jack's just a great lay, or Pitch gets off on having this infuriating control over him, of being able to touch Jack whenever he wanted; _however _he wanted.

Jack doesn't delude himself though, because he knows Pitch, and the dreaded _feelings _that are infecting Jack probably weren't so contagious as to pass over to somebody like Pitch.

So they keep it up, the two of them, like it's a game they can quit at any time, like Jack wasn't already dreaming of slender fingers drawing shapeless patterns on his spine or teeth slowly inching down his throat so they rested just over his jugular.

Because Pitch, being with Pitch, was that kind of dangerous; one wrong slip and it was all over like it had never begun at all.

Some nights, Jack wonders how he let this happen at all.

Then there are the nights with Pitch, nights where there's skin on skin and Jack frosts over the room when Pitch sets his fingers on that one spot just below his collarbone and there's noise – from Jack, from Pitch – and blood because they don't know any other way to do this.

It should probably say something to Jack that when he slinks out of Pitch's haunt at some ridiculous hour of the morning, he doesn't think twice about the blood on his collar or the bite marks hidden just out of sight on his neck, his wrists, the dozen other places that he'd let Pitch near that night.

And if it hurts at all when he retreats to his own room, it's a different kind of hurt than the sting in his flesh or the pain when he sits. And maybe for a moment, Jack thinks he might just stop, stop this thing with Pitch before it gets anymore out of control than it already is.

He might last a few days, a week or so, but he always goes back. And if Pitch is just a little more rough, a little less careful, then Jack tries not to read too much into it.

This can't end well. Can't end in anything remotely in the neighbourhood of good or decent because Jack is Jack and Pitch is Pitch and they're kind of breaking every rule in the book and if this thing, what they do together, whatever it is, comes to light, Jack can't even pretend to know what might happen.

If Jack stopped this now, when it's just something between him and Pitch, when the others are only just now beginning to become suspicious, he could probably salvage the situation.

But he won't and he knows it; _Pitch _knows it.

When this ends – because it will, because that's how things go, how Jack's life works – it's going to be messy and loud and probably impossibly painful on so many different levels. When this ends, it's going to be awkward and uncomfortable and Jack just might find himself on the outside again, but not the good outside, not the outside with Pitch, but the outside where he'd spent three-hundred years looking in on the good stuff.

It's going to be nasty and Jack might even wind up regretting this whole thing (although he doubts it).

Jack doesn't know how this whole thing began, no, but he knows how it's going to end.


End file.
